


Gifts

by sffan



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schul gets Brad a little gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a previous archive, written between 2002 and 2008. No additional changes or edits have been made since it’s original posting date and none will be.  
> 
> Original Notes:  
> Written for emungere in response to a Live Journal challenge. Her line: "If you don't like it, you can return it." The theory on Brad's power are mine, all mine. Hope it makes some kind of sense. Thanks muchly to tynantblue for betaing, even though she was sick.

The problem with being with someone who is prescient is that it’s nearly fucking impossible to surprise them. To make things that much shittier, Brad’s got shields like steel, so I can never sense what the hell is going on in his head. I hate it. Makes me kinda crazy.

Which explains why I’m standing here shifting from foot to foot, worrying – worrying! – that he’s going to hate what I’ve just done. Because, like I said, it’s _almost_ impossible to surprise a prescient, but not totally. The way Brad explained it is that it works on some bizarre theory of probabilities – he sees the most likely outcome, whether it’s something anyone could have thought of or not. So if you were to do something bat-shit crazy and impulsive, there’s a chance, albeit a small one, that he won’t _see_ it ahead of time. It certainly explains why he can never figure out what that crazy motherfucker Farf is up to at any given time.

So, when I walked into the coffee shop this afternoon – yes, even cold-hearted killers need a decent cup of coffee every now and again – and spotted the littlest Weiss kitten hanging out with what I’m assuming were friends from school, I acted on impulse.

I wish I’d had a camera so I could have taken picture of his face when I sidled up to him in line, curled my arm around his narrow little waist and purred, “Kitten!” in his ear. I’m laughing now, just thinking about how red his face went. It was really quite easy to get him to come with me – all I had to do was mindspeak to him and let him know that if he didn’t, he’d be cleaning his friends’ guts off of his pretty little shirt.

I’m snapped out of my pleasant little reverie by the sound of the door opening. Farf and the kid are both in their rooms, so I know it’s Brad. I wait, wishing he’d hurry the fuck up and get in here already.

And then he’s here. Staring at me. Staring at my little gift, bound and gagged in the corner, staring bloody murder at me and thinking some very nasty thoughts at me. I would expect this level of viciousness from Red – he’s almost as crazy as Farf. But not from dear, sweet little Omi – it’s a surprise, I must admit.

Brad still hasn’t said anything. He’s just staring, with this dead look on his face. Well, fuck him.

“If you don't like it, you can return it,” I say viciously and turn to leave. He grabs me by the arm as I pass him. Brad looks at me, a slow smile spreading across his face and suddenly, his shields drop, just a fraction, and I feel a wave of pleasure and affection crash over me before they slam shut again.

Stunned, I stand there with my mouth hanging open, surprised as hell by this gift he’s given me.


End file.
